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The Forest at the End of the World

We stood at the entrance to the Forest at the End of the World. The trees were impossibly tall and thick, but there was a clear path trodden through it. Exotic plants covered the forest floor in an array of colours unlike anything I had ever seen. It smelt different to other forests too and nothing like the humid, earthy smell of a jungle. It was far sweeter, a mixture of all the fruit juices in the world. However, not all of the flowers produced a scent. The breeze which rippled through the undergrowth was created by the flowers themselves. They breathed soft music into the air. It was barely audible, a quietly beautiful melody which every time I came close to picking up on would shift and change. Different harmonies and tunes intertwined with one another into something so beautiful it almost made me cry.

“Do you hear how quiet they are?” he looked around sadly. “They never used to be that way. The more natural beauty we destroy, the quieter they get. The day these flowers stop singin’ will be judgement day for us all.”